


Heat of the Moment

by Kailene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Dean is a Tease, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Sam is a Tease, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Voyeurism, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6586630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kailene/pseuds/Kailene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has always taken care of Sam, what he wants, what he needs. This is no different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiatheMai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiatheMai/gifts).



> This is my first jump into the Wincest pool, and a gift to my best friend/soul-sister RiatheMai. After 32+ years of friendship, I was looking for something to get her for her birthday that she would never expect, and, well, after LoveThemWinchester's joking, off-hand comment one day that I should write a slash story, I figured, well, heck, that is something she would never expect. 
> 
> That was in early 2015, LOL!
> 
> I missed her birthday, then planned it for a business trip she was taking, missed that as well. As well as another business trip, Christmas, and a business trip earlier this year. Because you see, this started out as a (totally different story all together) small, maybe, couple of thousand word one-shot, and, well, kinda grew and got away from me a bit. But I, finally, got it done for her birthday this year. Happy Birthday, sweetie, Love You. 
> 
> I'm setting this mid to late Season 1, but before John comes back, cuz, well, yeah, that's just all kinds of awkward. I think I've gotten all the tags, if I've missed any, please let me know. 
> 
> A Huge Thank-You and Hugs go out to LoveThemWinchesters. This is all your fault, LOL! And I'm so glad. As nervous, and anxiety-ridden, and angsty, and so totally out of my comfort zone as this was, I had such fun writing this. I can't thank you enough for all you help, advice, and encouragement.

The thrum of the music fills the room—some slow, easy, almost bluesy instrumental sound that Sam’s never heard before. The deep, heavy bass seems to reverberate from everywhere and nowhere all at once, the perfect mixture of volume and sound that mixes in with the murmur of the small crowd of patrons and only adds to the entire low key atmosphere of the small place that Dean has found for them. Three hours in and Sam is still trying to decide whether to call the place a bar or a club.

The heel of one of his battered boots is hooked onto the metal rung at the bottom of the tall barstool. His long arm is casually draped across the corner of the cluttered tabletop as he leans against it, empty shot glass still loosely gripped in fingers that dangle over the edge.

The table that they’ve made home for the night is situated in a darkened, out of the way corner, a fact that isn’t lost on him. A small, dirty thrill of something he can’t identify and doesn’t want to take the time to think about shoots through him as he decides to take full advantage of the situation presented.

He lets his gaze sweep freely over the long, lean lines of his older brother. The denim of his worn jeans is stretched taut, perfectly accentuating his ass and the strong muscles of his thighs. The black t-shirt that he chose to wear tonight is snug in all the right places and it rides up his back just the tiniest bit as he stretches across the pool table to take his shot, dragging with it Sam’s eyes to the thin strip of tan, sun-kissed skin that’s revealed. Sam’s tongue darts out wetting his lips, as he imagines tracing all the lines of Dean’s tight abs and strong shoulders right through the thin fabric.

Dean chooses that exact moment to look over at him. Green eyes lock on his, dark with an almost imperceptible glint that Sam can make out even in the dim light. Dean’s tongue darts out, mirroring Sam’s own as it slowly licks across his plump, full lips.

Sam can feel the blush heat his face at getting caught outright leering by Dean. Even after all the time they’ve been doing this he can’t help the unconscious, out-of-his-control responses that his older brother is able to pull out of him.

Dean straightens up and heat pools low in Sam’s belly as his brother’s gaze drags like a promise down the length of his body, green eyes like a weight as he sweeps just as slow and wicked on his way back up. Dean leans the pool cue against the side of the table, all cocky, confident swagger in his stride as he closes the gap between them, eyes locked on Sam’s the entire time. One side of Dean’s mouth tilts up ever so slowly as he walks, that slight half quirk thing he does with his lips, his eyebrow raising in that suggestive way that Dean knows damn well never fails to do all kinds of crazy things to him.

And tonight’s no different.

Dean slides up behind him, fingers none too subtly grazing down his arm as he reaches over Sam’s shoulder to pick up the bottle of whiskey, and Sam’s breath does a little stutter in his chest, goose bumps rising on his skin. 

“Like what you see, Sammy?”

Oh, he very much likes what he sees, Sam thinks as he watches with interest as Dean tips the bottle of whiskey and refills the tumbler that he’s still holding two fingers deep. But he’s not about to stroke his brother’s—already inflated—ego by saying that. Stroking something else on the other hand…

Sam clears his throat, doesn’t even try to be clever or disguise the action for anything more than it is, isn’t fool enough to believe for one second that Dean doesn’t know exactly what he was just thinking and his brother’s smug, knowing chuckle just proves him right. He decides on a question of his own, trying for a diversion and a road to safer and less  _arousing_ topics, but Dean blows a warm breath across the sensitive skin at the back of his neck sending a spine tingling shiver down the entire length of his body and it takes an incredible amount of effort to focus his thoughts enough to even remember what words are.                                                                          

“Tryin’ t’get me drunk?”                                   

Sam takes in the table littered with dirty food plates, more than a few empty beer bottles and—a now—almost empty bottle of Jack, and even his pleasantly numb brain has suddenly caught on to the fact that for every two or three of his own drinks, his brother has had only one.

“Not at all. Just relaxed…”

Dean’s voice is a low, slow drawl full of promise and sin whispered honey-sweet against Sam’s ear and every nerve ending in Sam’s body ignites. 

“Loose…”

Dean leans in impossibly closer, body pressing shoulder to hip at Sam’s back, an intense creep of heat that Sam can feel against his skin even through the layers of cotton, flannel, and denim that separate them.   

 “A little less…inhibited.”    

Dean’s other arm circles around the front of Sam. He hooks two long fingers under the bottom of the shot glass, raises it to Sam’s mouth, and tips the glass against his lips.

“Drink.” 

The words are all but a dark purr and ruffle the silky fine hair that’s curled around the side of his head. There’s no denying it’s an order and Sam obeys without even a second thought. Dean’s teeth make a slow slide along the back of his ear, just grazing the shell, and Sam can’t help the low moan that escapes as he parts his lips.  

The amber liquid rolls down his throat, the harsh burn long ago replaced with a smooth as silk glide that leaves him warm and tingly and just the right side of buzzed. 

“Do you remember Cherry Valley?” 

Sam furrows his brow. The question is a glaring, neon-bright non-sequitur if he’s ever heard one. Sam opens his mouth to argue his brother just that, but Dean presses a finger against his lips, and any thoughts of dispute are immediately replaced by thoughts of just how much he wants to pull that long digit into his mouth and suck on it. 

Dean drags the finger slowly across his lips, down along the sharp cut of his jaw line. He crooks it underneath Sam’s chin and tips his face slightly to the side so that they’re looking at each other, cocks his eyebrow, and simply asks his question again. But Sam can’t help losing himself in the deep green eyes that stare back at him and the hard, familiar press of Dean’s body against his back. A gentle tap against his cheek reminds him that Dean is still waiting for an answer and Sam refocuses, the twinkle in his older brother’s eyes and the smirk flitting just at the corner of his lips leaving him with the distinct feeling that he’s missing something important.    

He finally nods, knowing that’s enough and Dean will understand. Yeah, he remembers Cherry Valley—is still trying to figure things out. 

He remembers Dean’s non-stop adolescent jokes combining the small town’s name with any sexual innuendo he could think of…and it shouldn’t have shocked him as much as it did just how many his older brother could come up with.

The easy hunt that they went there for— _researched_  for,  _prepared_  for—that went nine kinds of wrong in the blink of an eye.

Seeing, not the shimmering, translucent image of the spirit they went there to put to rest, but a massive, fur-covered creature. 

Remembers not thinking, just reacting as sharp teeth and long talons lunged for his brother, knowing with terrifying certainty that whatever it was—and weeks later he still hasn’t been able to figure it out—all the weapons that they had with them weren’t going to kill it.

Remembers screaming Dean’s name, charging the beast, tackling it to the side just before the tips of razor sharp claws could bury themselves deep into the sensitive skin of Dean’s stomach

Can’t forget the ear splitting echo of splintering wood as the safety fencing in the half-constructed building gave way under their combined weights, the stomach churning feeling of free-falling, Dean’s fading frantic screams of his name— Nothing but air and darkness as the elevator shaft enveloped him as he and creature vanished from sight.

Sam was never as glad for his long _Sasquatch_ arms as he was then, as he managed to grab onto a support beam on his way down; to hang on as Dean had ran down five flights and then dragged him back to safety.

Recalls the deathly silent car ride back, being slammed into the motel room wall even before the door was fully closed, Dean’s fear, and worry, and terror at almost losing him getting all tangled up and coming out as anger, the tirade escalating until they were both yelling, boundaries and personal space non-existent.

Remembers them…

Oh. 

_Oh._

Sam’s eye widen with the sudden realization of what _exactly_ his brother is asking, what he’s referring too. The skin on the back of his neck shivers and he almost gasps out loud as the memories of the rest of that night wash over him.

_Holy shit._

The swallow he makes past the lump in his throat he’s sure is audible even over the thrumming bass of the club that he’s suddenly very much aware of. He risks a look at Dean. The dark, hooded eyes staring back at him tell Sam that his brother remembers that night pretty damn well, too.

“Aaaand… _there’s_  my college boy.” Dean’s laugh rumbles against his back, full of warmth and fondness, and Sam decides he wants to hear that sound much more often. Dean takes the shot glass from his lax fingers, drops it on the table in front of them, and circles his arms comfortably around Sam’s waist. “You do too much thinkin’ with the wrong head sometimes...okay,  _most_  of the time, you know that?”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I have an older brother who does too much thinkin’ with the wrong head… _all_  of the time.”

“Damn straight.” Strong fingers reach up, twine tightly in the silky fine strands of his hair, and tug. “Smart ass.” Sam gasps on a breath of pain and pleasure as his head is pulled back and tipped to the side. Dean’s mouth curves up into a slow, cocky grin. “I could gag you, you know.” 

Dean’s teeth nip at his lips. His tongue licks over Sam’s mouth, the pointed tip a whisper light, wet drag across his bottom lip seeking entrance, permission—once, twice, three times—until Sam parts them to let Dean plunge in to explore. The smooth, smoky flavor of whiskey, and the unique, consuming taste that is all _Dean_ swirl together as their tongues slide against each other and Sam decides he could spend the rest of the night just licking that taste out of his brother’s mouth. 

The kiss is tender, playful, and all too brief and Sam twists his neck to the side trying to chase after Dean’s mouth as he pulls away, earning him a dark chuckle that makes Sam’s stomach flip.   

“But…I’m thinkin’,” Dean continues quietly, letting his blunt fingernails run slowly down Sam’s scalp as he lets go of his hair, “you’d enjoy that. Wouldn’t’cha, Sammy?” Dean’s hot breath skims over his skin as he drags the tip of his nose down the long expanse of Sam’s throat that is exposed, pushes the collar of Sam’s flannel down further when he gets to the base of his neck. Dean bites down on the smooth swatch of skin at the dip in Sam’s collarbone, swirls his tongue around to ease the sting, then sucks on the pulse beating rapidly beneath. Sam is dizzy with the sensations, his blood running hot as Dean laves at the spot, the flat of his tongue soothing the mark that he’s left behind.

“I mean, we’ve never exactly been vanilla, have we? We’ve pushed a few boundaries when we play, but that night…” Dean pauses and shakes his head, the scruff on his jaw prickling against the sensitive skin on the side of Sam’s neck. “Thought maybe it was just post-hunt adrenaline, you know, a bit of rougher-than-normal sex, endorphins running in over-drive at almost losing you…losing each other, cuz I gotta tell ya…the sight of you…bent over that table, arms pinned above your head…all that tanned, sweat-glistening skin trembling and writhing beneath me…”  

His mouth presses up against Sam’s ear, deep, husky voice dropping even lower as he whispers, “Hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.

“Or so I thought.” Dean hooks his index fingers into the belt loops of Sam’s jeans, and Sam can’t help the jerk of his hips as Dean slides his thumbs along the inside of his waistband and brushes torturously back and forth over the bare skin on his hipbones. “But then there was banging from the other side of the wall… People’s voices, shouting—and I thought for sure that you were gonna clam up…stop making all those fuckin’ incredible sounds that make my dick so hard I think I’m gonna come just listenin’ to you, especially when I realized what they were shouting.

“They weren’t yellin’ at us to keep it down, were they, Sammy?”

Their words come to Sam’s mind instantly and his answer is an immediate, barely there whisper.

 “ _No_.” 

“That’s right. And what were they yelling, Sammy? What did those people want?”

Sam’s breathe catches in his throat. His tongue feels swollen and his throat dry despite all the alcohol he’s drunk, and his voice sounds foreign to his own ears as he repeats verbatim the request the motel guests were shouting through the chipped, plaster wall, “…’ _more of those delicious moans.’”_

“Mmm,” Dean hums against his ear. He flicks his tongue out and licks a slow lazy circle around the lobe and Sam lets his head fall back onto Dean’s shoulder. Their surroundings fade into the distance—music and people temporarily ignored and forgotten—as Sam allows himself to get lost in the moment amid the sensations swirling hot and fast inside of him, and he cranes his neck to the side to give his brother total unrestricted access so he can continue. He’s not sure if his sigh of frustration as Dean stops his ministrations to start talking again is real or imagined, but the smile he feels against the heated skin of his neck makes him think that it was the former.     

“But you didn’t do what I thought—what I  _knew_ —for sure you were gonna do, did you? I shoulda known…I mean, you always do have to do your own thing. What’d you do, Sammy?” 

Dean unhooks his fingers from one side of Sam’s jeans, trails the hand over the curve of his hip. Sam’s dick twitches and thickens beneath his jeans as Dean’s fingertips skim against his length before continuing down the outside of his thigh.

“What’d you do as I bit and nipped my way down that fuckin’ sexy back of yours? Traced every cut of gorgeous muscle with my tongue ‘till I got to your ass…then proceeded to lick you open ‘till you were nice and wet for me?”

Sam’s heart is thrumming a frantic beat against his ribcage. He can feel the flush rising on his face as his blood heats up, runs hot and fast as it pulses and rushes through his veins.  

“What’d you do, huh, Sammy?”

Dean’s fingers continue their barely there trail down the outside of his thigh, and even through the thick denim of his jeans, the muscles in Sam’s leg jump and quiver as his brother skips over the front of his leg and drags his nails up along the jut of his hip. 

“Tell me, Sammy. Gotta say the words.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep jagged breath in, and blows it out just as rough, tells himself that he’s not panting from just what Dean’s been doing, but damn, if it’s not a near thing.

“Loud…” he starts, his voice is a low rasp, and the word gets stuck in his throat. He licks his lips, clears his throat, then starts again. “I got…got louder.”   

“You sure did. Jesus, were you makin’ some seriously sweet fuckin’ noises. Didn’t even try to hold it in, did you? Keep it down? Bet the entire fuckin’ motel could hear you. Damn near lost it right then…had to fist my dick so tight just so I wouldn’t come right then and there. But their little commentary wasn’t done, was it? Nosey neighbors weren’t satisfied with that, were they? They wanted to…”

“…‘ _hear him_   _beg,_ ’” Sam’s deep voice murmurs in time with Dean. 

“And beg you did,” Dean needlessly reminds him, dragging his hand up along the swell of his ass, dips his fingers down between Sam’s legs, keeps going along the denim seam that lines the cleft of Sam’s buttocks. “So fuckin’ pretty for me as I held you down…stretched you open with my fingers…slid into that tight heat so, so slow…brushin’ over and over, so fuckin’ lightly over your sweet spot…too much, but never quite enough, was it? Bringing you to that edge…danglin’ you over…then pullin’ you right back…never lettin’ you fall.”

The groan sounds low in Sam’s throat, the back of his head driving into Dean’s shoulder as Dean stops shy of the desperate ache that’s building between his legs, reverses direction and then makes a maddeningly slow trek back up to lay his hand casually back on Sam’s hip.

“Thought you were gonna lose your mind…the way you were writhing, cryin’ out…buckin’ underneath me, tryin’ to get me to move faster, give it to you deeper…just begging for release, Don’t even think the words that were coming outta your mouth were English after a while…but those little obscene requests still comin’ from next door certainly were…

“Christ, Sammy…you were so fuckin’ tight, smooth as velvet…clenching so damn hard as I pounded into that perfect ass of yours while you lay all spread out, bent over that table, cock so fuckin’ hard between your legs. You didn’t even need me to touch you, did you? You just—fuck… It was so fuckin’ hot when you came, yellin’ my name…Just like he wanted you to, isn’t that right?”

_“‘I want to hear him scream your name when he comes_ …’”

He doesn’t trust what would come out of his mouth so Sam just nods his head, sucks in his bottom lip, and bites down hard on the desperate sounds that want to escape. 

Dean’s thumbs slide under Sam’s t-shirt, calloused pads running torturously back and forth. Sam’s about ready to jump out of his own skin, feels like he’s about to lose his damn mind as his stomach muscles bunch and tremble beneath his touch.   

“Those paper-thin walls…they could hear every single thing we did. Think maybe they stepped outside, Sammy? Watched us through that useless, waste of sheer material covering that window right beside us as I thrust into you?” Dean asks.

Hot, wet lips skim open-mouthed kisses along his jaw line before pausing; Dean’s voice once again a whisper heating his skin.  

“But that’s all part of the thrill…that you may get caught, isn’t it. Fuckin’ hot, Sam. You got a kink you never told me about. Or maybe,” Dean pauses, considering, “I’m thinkin’ one you didn’t even know you had.”

Sam doesn’t answer, knows he’s not expected to because none of that is really a question, just a straightforward statement of truth that Dean just somehow knows. Sam doesn’t know how his brother knows because they’ve never discussed any of what happened that night.

He’s been thinking, and analyzing, and questioning everything that happened...everything he did since that night weeks ago and Dean, in one simple word, explains it all: _kink_.

But like everything else about him, Sam thinks, Dean just seems to know, has probably known since that night…hell, maybe he even knew before then somehow. Sam wouldn’t put it past him.

“What if…,” Dean starts and then leans his head forward, nips hard at the lobe of Sam’s ear with his teeth. Sam’s knees go weak, and he has to lock them to keep from hitting the dusty floor. Dean presses his lips right against Sam’s ear. Words whispered. A secret shared between just the two of them, the way it’s always been—the way it will always be.   

“What if…we traded paper-thin walls for an out of the way corner table? Flimsy curtains for smoky shadows and dusky lights? You like the idea of that, Sammy? Turn you on…get you all hard...to think that every last person in this joint might see you? Hear you? Whadaya think, Sammy?” Dean murmurs.

A hot shiver runs down his spine at Dean’s words, the pulse of arousal sudden and sharp. His dick jerks hard against the zipper of his jeans even as his mind goes blank at the thought. A hard shudder shakes Sam’s entire body from head to toe and his thoughts spin wildly, scatter as fast as the colored lights that flash across his closed lids from the spotlights lining the dance floor.

_“Oh god.”_

“Easy, kiddo,” Dean soothes, “I gotcha.” And just like that, the low, sultry drawl is gone, instantly replaced by the calm, soothing voice that goes back to his earliest memories. Soft caresses and teasing touches vanish as a strong, protective arm wraps around his waist. The fingers of Dean’s other hand grasp his neck, an age-old gesture of comfort and support, an anchor to ground him. 

“Did I read any of that wrong?”  

Sam shakes his head, the movement small and fast, tousled bangs wisping across his forehead and falling to cover his eyes. “No,” Sam finally breathes out. 

The very small part of Sam’s brain that is still able to function suddenly reminds him that Dean has asked him more than one question. That his _no_ could pertain to any number of the things that his brother has just said—has just suggested. He’s pretty sure that if his heart beats any faster it’s going to burst right out of his chest. His pulse feels like a jackhammer as it slams against his wrist, the act of trying to gather his thoughts like catching a kite in a tornado.

But he feels the importance, the need to make things crystal clear, for Dean to understand, to know just what exactly it is he’s saying _no_ to; because if Sam were to be completely honest with himself, the curiosity and excitement of what his brother is suggesting far outweigh the nervousness and trepidation that’s somersaulting crazily in his belly.                                                                                 

Sam tips his head to the side and looks his brother in the eyes, steels himself for the sarcasm and ribbing—good natured though he’s sure it’ll be—that he’s sure will come at his admission.

“No, that night I…it was…,” he clears his throat, goes for broke and just blurts out his admission. “No, you didn’t read any of that wrong.”  

But it never comes.

“Alright, then,” Dean says, no sarcasm, no hint of future mocking, just genuine concern, “Y’not okay with this, say the word and we’re outta here. We’ll go back to the motel. Hell, we’ll find a field somewhere. Stars overheard…you spread out over my baby… Mmm.” Dean pauses for a thoughtful moment. “Why haven’t we done that yet? Think we’ll have to do that one anyway…more than once, I think.”

And Sam couldn’t love his brother any more.

Heat pools low in his belly, creeps under Sam’s skin, and licks around his insides. He would kick himself—might still—for not seeing this night as the setup it so obviously was from the start, but he’s feeling light and relaxed and loose; and if he judges from the way he’s pressed up against Dean, shirts rucked up with his brother’s hands splayed against the muscles of his stomach…a whole lot less inhibited and he knows that’s what his brother’s plan was all along.     

He knows Dean is just as turned on as he is, is just as on edge. He can feel the heat of his skin searing his own, the hard line of Dean’s arousal pressing against the back of his thigh. He also knows unquestionably that despite all that, at the slightest word, at even the merest hint that it’s too much, that he’s unsure or uncomfortable in the least; no matter how far gone Dean is, it would all stop in a heartbeat. Hell, Sam’s sure that he wouldn’t even have to say a thing, Dean would innately just know.

Sam loves the attention his brother gives him. The possibility of being caught only adds to the intensity of the feelings he has. Dean has never had a problem showing off for others; it might’ve taken Sam a while to catch up—different drummer and all those other clichés that Dean teases him about—but yeah, Dean’s right. Ever since that night in Cherry Valley, Sam finds that it turns him on, the prospect of others hearing him—hearing _them—_ what Dean does to him, the way his big brother can make him come completely undone like no one ever has—or ever will—when they’re like this.

Words have never been needed between the two of them, actions always speaking louder, and Sam decides that, yeah, two can play this game. He relaxes back into the heat of Dean’s body, shifts slightly and rolls his hips back, ass dragging slow and hard against his brother’s crotch.   

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean mutters breathlessly, and Sam can feel it all over as a shudder works its way up Dean’s body. He can hear the note of amazement in his brother’s tone that he’s actually on board with this, that Sam just didn’t slug him at the mere suggestion and storm out, leaving him to hoof it the four miles back in the cold, December rain to their latest flea-bag motel; and to be honest, Sam shares the sentiment.

But he has his brother pressed tight up against his back, hands warm and sure where they lay slowly caressing his skin. He’s buzzing with want and need that borders on electric, body on fire and every nerve ending lit. He’s half hard in his boxers, cock throbbing where it lies trapped in his jeans, and any thoughts he has to examine, deconstruct, or dissect gets pushed aside to contemplate some other time.

“Thought that was the idea…” Sam offers with a small shrug. He knows better than anyone that goading his big brother is never a good idea, knows the taunt will cost him. Later on, but hopefully in a good way.                                                                                                                        

And he’s looking forward to every torturously delicious minute. 

“Oh, really?” He doesn’t need to turn around to see that damnable smirk on his brother’s face; the Cheshire-wide grin is loud and clear. Dean gives a roll of his own hips, a perfect counter to his own. “You know, you’re awfully toppy for a bottom,” Dean informs him.

Sam chuckles lightly. “Bottom, huh? Who says you’re not gonna wake up one morning, totally at my mercy?” He grasps the hand Dean has on his hip, drags it down his own body, and presses Dean’s palm against the growing bulge trapped beneath the restrictive denim.

A moan escapes Sam’s mouth before he can stop it. A breathless little grunt of sound echoes against the back of his ear as Dean interlocks their fingers, curls their hands together on an upward stroke and applies more pressure, and Sam feels his eyes roll back at the sensation.

“Atta boy,” Dean drawls, his free hand slipping beneath Sam’s worn cotton t-shirt. “Want’em all to hear you.” He slides his blunt nails across Sam’s stomach. His fingers climb higher, tracing over the sculpted muscles of Sam’s abdomen. Sam’s whole body lights up as Dean finds his nipple and drags the nail of his index finger across it. 

“And what would Sammy do,” Dean inquires; his hot breath ghosts over Sam’s neck, the calloused pad of his thumb grazing back and forth over the hard peak of his nipple, “if he could do as he pleases, hmm?”

Sam groans low in his throat, back arching as Dean drags his nails across his chest, grasps his other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and pinches, just the right side of painful, then rolls the hardening nub back and forth between his fingers, the sensations sending a burst of desire straight to Sam’s cock. 

“Tell me.”

Sam opens his eyes to mere slits—doesn’t even remember ever closing them—and he rolls his head to find Dean staring at him with dark, hooded eyes.   

“Strip you down…lay you out, secure you nice and tight to the bed frame with a few of those knots Dad made sure we learned, all that golden, freckled skin spread-eagle on the bed for me. Then I’d start at your feet…lick my way up the insides of your thighs ‘till I got to your balls…” Sam lets out a muffled gasp as Dean rolls his hips again, rocking Sam forward into the—not nearly enough—friction of their still entwined hands. “…Then suck ‘em into my mouth one at a time, roll ‘em around on my tongue. Then I’d spend some time tasting every inch of you, starting with your hipbone…teasing that thin strip of sensitive skin that I know always drives you insane.

“Lick along those tight abs and that sculpted chest that only I ever get to see; then I’d use my teeth…bite and tease at your nipples…your neck…along your jaw. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? And when I was done making you squirm? I’d kiss you…slow and deep…while I blindfolded you. And then?”

A smirk quirk’s Sam’s lips—a pretty good facsimile of his older brother’s if he does say so himself. “And then…I’d do it all again…until you were a quivering mess writhing and bucking beneath me, begging me to fuck you.”

“Sonovabitch,” Dean groans.

Dean drops his forehead onto Sam’s back with a hard thud, fingers dragging down his chest as the hand Dean has under his t-shirt falters and falls to his waist. The back of his shirt twists as Dean shakes his head back and forth and Sam grins as he hears the muffled words. “Fuckin’ kid is trying to kill me.”

“But what a way to go,” Sam says on a gravelly laugh.  

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” 

“You know,” Dean ponders; his head resting against the nape of Sam’s neck and his mouth pressed against the back of his ear as he speaks, “that’s an awful lot of detail on the fly, Sammy. Been fantasizing ‘bout doin’ that a long time? Cuz… _damn_.”

A small nostalgic smile lifts the corner of Sam’s mouth. He has been dreaming of his brother for as long as he can remember; still remembers when the dreams turned to _more,_ to mornings of boxer briefs and pajama bottoms already wet and sticky or waking hard as steel, biting his lip to keep silent, to keep in the scream as his orgasm ripped through him.

Remembers exactly when he figured things out.  

“Summer of ’97,” Sam breathes on a sigh. “You were eighteen.” Their hips keep a rhythm all their own, a slow, sensual bump and grind as Dean licks and nips from his neck to ear, sparks of pleasure erupting on every spot where Dean’s lips touch his heated skin.

Dean’s head snaps up, and Sam knows his brother has realized what he’s left out. “Sonovabitch,” Dean growls, “you were—” 

“—fourteen,” Sam finishes. “Always was an overachiever, I guess.” 

Overachiever he may be, but it still took him almost two years to get enough courage up to tell his brother—and okay, the bit of liquid courage hadn’t hurt. It was another whole year before Dean would touch him, and then only hand and blow jobs. Despite how much Sam begged, Dean refused to make love to him before he turned eighteen. They only had a few short months together before Stanford.

“Jesus…fuck, Sam,” Dean groans. “You keep sayin’ shit like that this night’s gonna be over before it even starts.”

He cups the hard line of Sam’s dick through his jeans, squeezes as he drags his long fingers up the hard outline of his shaft and Sam lets out a muffled gasp. Sam curls his hand, trying to force Dean’s fingers tighter, pushing harder on their joined hands, Dean’s arousal a hard, thick line snug against his ass as they slowly rock their hips together.

“So fuckin’ hot, little brother,” Dean breathes out. 

Sam slams his eyes shut as a hard shudder rolls down his spine, because, _fuck_ , it drives him crazy when Dean calls him that when they’re together like this, the _DirtyHotWrong…More_ getting mixed up and tangled with how inexplicably right this all feels.

“You like when I call you that, don’t’cha?” Dean wedges his knee between Sam’s legs as they roll back. Sam leans into the heat of his older brother, widens his stance, gives him more access to the aching throb between his legs. He can’t help the desperate moans that escape through his parted lips—isn’t even trying to anymore—as Dean lifts his leg slightly, grinding it up just as Sam is rolling his hips down.

“That’s it, Sammy,” Dean’s deep voice rumbles encouragingly. “Let ‘em all hear you.”

Sam slides his left hand down around Dean’s leg and grabs his ass, digging his fingers into the meat of his buttocks and pulling him closer; grinding down onto the taut muscle of his thigh.

But the angle is all wrong. The relief Sam craves is just out of reach. He shifts his hips, angles his body, chasing after the shivery spikes of pleasure that are curling through him. He needs the friction, needs the heat. He’s already teetering on the edge and he doesn’t care if he comes in his jeans like a damn virgin. Dean’s mouth and voice and body are all too much. It’s a low, slow burn, and Sam is dizzy with lust and need.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Dean chides lightly, deep throaty voice ghosting across his ear. “Not so fast.” He flips their joined hands over suddenly, grasps Sam’s hand in his own, and pulls them both out from underneath the tall table and off of Sam’s throbbing length. He reaches behind himself at the same time, grabbing the hand that Sam has on his ass, pulling it away as he shifts his body away from Sam…reminding Sam of the strength and coordination his brother possesses in his lithe body.

“ _Dean_ …” His brother’s name escapes his lips on a breathless whine, hips rocking against nothing, seeking the friction and relief he’s so desperate for. It’s only inches that separate them, but Sam feels the loss as if it’s miles. 

“Shhh…I gotcha, Sammy, gonna make it so good.” Dean promises, his voice a low, whiskey-coated gravel.

Dean slowly sweeps his forearm halfway across the tabletop, plates of half-eaten food and bottles of alcohol rattling and clacking together as he pushes them aside and out of the way. “Keep ‘em there,” he commands lowly, as he places both of Sam’s hands palm down on the tabletop in front of them. “Good boy.” 

Dean interlocks their fingers and squeezes Sam’s hands before letting go, the gesture speaking volumes more than words ever could. He leans forward over Sam’s shoulder, captures his lips in a tender, almost chaste kiss, Dean’s soft _love you_ a whispered breath of air shared between them.

He drags his hands up Sam’s arms, skates them across his broad shoulders and down along his ribs before he slips them once again under his shirt. “Not even close to being done with you yet. Gonna take my time…wanna hear you beg.” His palms blaze a trail of hot desire as they snake nonchalantly back and forth across the bare skin of his chest, his stomach, the very tips of Dean’s fingers tracing along the muscled ridges of his abs as they move lower and lower. 

“So damn gorgeous, Sammy, you don’t even know. The things you do to me…,” He feels Dean shake his head, breath a whisper against the back of his neck. “Go to my head harder and faster than a good bottle of whiskey.”

Dean deftly unbuckles the belt that circles Sam’s waist and flicks open the button on the front of his jeans. Dean’s thumb follows the trail of baby-fine hair that starts at Sam’s belly button, dragging it along the smooth skin until it disappears beneath his waist band; the zipper of Sam’s jeans pushed down by the back of Dean’s hand as he finally— _finally_ —slips inside.

Hidden from view by their joined stance, Dean curls his fingers around Sam’s length—thick, and hard, and hot—and Sam sucks in a hiss at the first skin-on-skin contact, bites down hard on his bottom lip to hold in the moan as Dean strokes him, his brother’s roughened palm sliding across his sensitive flesh sending delicious spikes of pleasure coursing through him.

The cool air of the club is a shock to his over-heated system, raising goose-bumps all over his flesh. Dean strokes him slow and easy as he squeezes along his shaft, teasing and twisting in a loose figure eight action and pulling on the upstroke. The pressure is not nearly sufficient to be anything close to enough, never firm enough to get him off, just the right amount to drive him slowly, inexplicably, crazy, and Sam loves every gloriously torturous second of it.

He grabs along the edges of the tabletop, ten crescent-shaped indents adding to the already scratched and scarred dark wood as his nails dig into the surface. He shifts backward, spreads his legs wider, back arching on its own accord as he rolls his hips and thrusts into Dean’s grip, once again seeking more contact. 

Dean just chuckles—the bastard—and slows down, loosens his grip as he keeps on stroking him, thumb curling lazily over the head of his cock on every other stroke. “You feel so good, Sammy.”

_“Dean…”_

Sam can feel the drops of precum beading up, gathered and swirled around by the pad of Dean’s thumb as he lazily circles the head, slicking the way every time he shoves through the circle of Dean’s hand. 

He shudders as his brother's fingers continue their firm slip/slide strokes up and down his shaft. And—oh, god—Sam can’t help the low keen coming from deep in his throat when Dean adds that extra twist of the wrist on the last upstroke. He’s so damn close, the burst of precum slicking the way under Dean's fingers sheer evidence of that.

“Love the sounds you make, Sammy.” 

But then Dean's hand is gone and Sam groans at the sudden and unexpected loss, his whine of protest dying before it can even begin as wet fingers trail along his lower lip.  

"Go ahead, taste yourself."

Sam’s eyes flick over to meet Dean’s and he shivers at the hunger he sees reflected there. Sam holds his brother’s gaze as he darts his tongue out, wraps around thick fingers coated in clear, sticky fluid, moaning when the musky flavor of himself rolls over his taste buds. Dean’s hips stutter on the rhythm that he’s set, the long, hard length of his shaft twitching against the curve of Sam’s ass. Sam chases after the sensation as his brother’s smooth-as-silk drawl wraps around him, slithers down his spine as Dean whispers roughly against the shell of his ear.  

"Fuck, Sammy. So damn hot."

Sam’s eyes trail after Dean’s hand as he slides it once again down his body and Sam leans back a bit, looks down through the small gap he’s created between the edge of the table and his stomach as he presses further back into the heat of Dean’s chest. 

He watches as Dean wraps his hand back around his hard length, long fingers jacking him with sure practiced strokes, getting him impossibly harder. The sight of his brother’s hand on him… It is dirty, forbidden, taboo… And so incredibly fuckin’ hot it makes Sam dizzy.

“You like that, huh, little brother, watchin’ my hands on you?”

The _yeah_ that leaves Sam’s lips is more an expulsion of air twisted inside of a moan than an actual word. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, deep and intense, watching him as Sam continues to stare at Dean’s hand, sure and strong, but gentle, knowing.

Sam shivers, watches his cock fill and thicken beneath the skillful twist and slide of his brother’s fingers. Dean’s ring is a smooth slide against his hardened length, and Sam sucks in a hiss at the sharp contrast of the combined cool metal and Dean’s warm hand against his heated flesh, his eyes mesmerized by the silver glinting sharp and bright in the overhead bar lights on every upstroke.

Sam’s body jerks in response, hips thrusting up instinctively. His boots scritch across the wooden floor beneath Sam’s feet as he adjusts his stance against Dean’s body. He aches to quicken his pace, gain more leverage, more of those incredible sensations that Dean is able to pull from his body. But he’s trapped between the side of the table and the long, hard plane of his older brother, forced into nothing more than shallow half-rolls of his hips and the deliberate, leisurely slide of his brother’s talented fingers.

“Can you feel their eyes on you, Sammy?”

Sam’s answer, the only response he is capable of at this moment, is a desperate little moan deep in his throat. He can’t think. He can’t move. He can’t focus beyond the heat building inside of him, the desire crashing over him in waves; nothing matters beyond the warm, possessive hand twisting his skin.

Dean’s other hand leaves his hip, slides back up along his left arm, over his shoulder to glide open-palmed up his neck. He rests his thumb and forefinger on either side of Sam’s chin, and gently turns his head, a single sensual command exhaled on a warm breath of air against his cheek. “Look.”

“ _Dean.._.”        

“Mmm…right here, Sammy,” Dean reassures him quietly. Sam can hear the hitch in his brother’s breath, can feel the erratic rise and fall of his chest against his back; and he knows that Dean is fighting hard to stay in control. “You gotta look, Sammy. Want’cha to see.” 

It’s a monumental effort, but Sam shifts his eyes, tears his gaze away from the clever hand that is stoking the slow burn that is swiftly engulfing him and he does as Dean asks. The clink of glasses, conversations hushed and muted over the too loud music pumping from speakers all hum back to life and swirl around him. The thick aroma of sweat hits his nostrils. The previous cool air of the club has vanished, replaced by the fire that’s burning through his veins. He slides his eyes down the span of the long, crowded bar. People talking, laughing, enjoying themselves…

“You know they keep lookin’ over here.” Dean’s statement whispers against the shell of his ear and Sam swallows thickly, eyes once again trailing slowly up and down the length of the bar—looking, searching, for prying eyes and the heat of stares.

Dean slides the pad of his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress against the side of Sam’s cheek; moist, wet lips kiss along the hinge of his jaw. “Have been all night... Sneakin’ peeks, wondering if they’re seein’ what they think they are.

“You can feel ‘em, can’t you? You like it,” Deans says, and Sam jerks, a quiet groan falling from his lips. Dean hums, his fingers brushing across Sam’s neck. “Yeah, you do. It’s okay, though…cuz’ you know what?”                                                                                                                         

The hand Dean has on his cock keeps up its motion, fingers spread wide as he slides it down the length of his hard-as-steel erection, each finger caressing every vein and nerve ending on the way down, smooth glide up with a closed palm, thumb sweeping over the head each time as he reaches the top.

“I do, too,” Dean whispers.

_Jesus_. His brother’s words race through him, sending a jolt of heat sliding along every nerve in his spine, and a moan tumbling from his lips. Sam sweeps his eyes across their small table, skims the crowd across the room, couples wrapped around each other on the dance floor, sweat-glistened bodies locked together in a sensuous sway to the music surrounding them. Sam catches the eyes of a young man and woman watching him from across the polished dance floor before they swiftly shift their focus away. And even at this distance, in the low lighting of the club, lost in a haze of pleasure and want, there is still enough _hunter_ in Sam that he doesn’t miss the heated look in their eyes, the slow slide of a pink tongue against ruby, red lips, thick fingers skimming just beneath the hem of a short black skirt.

It’s thrilling, and intense, and… A hot, sharp, rush passes through Sam at the knowledge that he—that _they_ —have been found out.

“Love how lit you are. Christ… Wish you could see what you look like right now. Wish you could see what those two over there can see.

“You see ‘em, don’cha, Sammy. She’s been watchin’ us this whole time—and they haven’t been the only ones… Watchin’ _you_. And he knows, Sammy. He knows how you’ve gotten her all wet just by watching how you react to what I’m doing to you.”

Dean’s words rumble right into Sam’s ear, his brother’s voice deep, and rough, and _wrecked_ , with that slight mid-western twang he gets when he’s really turned on, and a strangled moan escapes through Sam’s parted lips. 

“S’like dozens of little fingers trailing all over your bare skin, isn’t it?”

Dean’s hand leaves his face in a long drag of his fingers, feathering the very tips down the back of his neck, across his shoulder blade, down the center of his spine. And even through the two layers of shirts that he’s wearing the feeling is electric. Sam arches up on a gasp, his head falling back, mouth slightly parted as his breath stutters in his chest.  

_“Dean…”_

Sam repeats it. Then repeats it again. Because he knows no other word in his extensive vocabulary that will ever adequately convey the intense desire that’s coursing through his body, just a string of his brother’s name broken up by breathless moans that tumble unheeded from his mouth.

Sam can feel his orgasm building at the base of his spine. The muscles in his stomach are taut; his body is shaking so badly he’s glad for Dean tight against his back to hold him up. He balls his hands into tight fists on the dark, stained wood of the tabletop as sparks of wanton heat slip down his spine, dance throughout his entire system.

The music circles around him, a crescendo of rifts playing off the thrumming of his heart and the beat of his pulse—the noises of the club, the heat, the sweat, the murmurs of the crowd brush over his skin in waves of heat and desire.

His breath hitches, moans of pleasure turning into tiny gasps. He’s so close, teetering on the edge, dangling by fraying strands about to let go…

Sam’s entire body suddenly seizes up, shout of shock and surprise swallowed up by Dean’s mouth crashing against his own as his older brother wraps his fingers snugly around the base of his cock and squeezes.

“Not yet,” Dean warns.

Sam’s breath lodges in his throat, lungs slamming against his ribs. “ _Dean!_ …” His brother’s name is a desperate, wrecked whimper on his lips as his breath punches out of him as he stares wide-eyed at Dean.

He can feel the sweat dampening his hairline, beading up across his forehead to trickle in rivulets down his temple. If he had the air, the capacity to breathe, he would shout again. Instead it’s just a tiny, broken cry as the very tip of Dean’s tongue brushes up the side of his face, lapping up the tiny bead of sweat as it rolls down the side of his face.

“Shit—” Sam swallows hard, “ _Oh god_ …”

“Shhh...s’okay,” Dean soothes. “Not yet.”

“Dean, _Dean_ , _c’mon,_ ” Sam repeats in a rough, broken whisper, “ _please_ …”

Sam’s rapid breath hisses out of him through clenched teeth, his cock rock hard and pulsing in time with his rapidly beating heart as Dean gently tucks him back into his boxer briefs, long fingers still tightly wrapped around the base of his hardened length. “Soon… I promise.”

Eventually, Dean slowly uncurls his fingers, one by one, from around Sam’s arousal and slides his hand out of Sam’s jeans. He pulls the zipper back up, forgoing the top button, and threads the leather of his belt though the metal ring of the buckle.

“Since the moment we walked in here, they’ve all been lookin’ at you, Sammy. Watchin’ you as my hands caressed your tight, gorgeous body…watchin’ you as you lost yourself in the pleasure, watchin’ you skate so close to that edge of bliss, but, uh uh, little brother…” Moist lips brush along the long lines of his throat, up across his jaw, whispered voice rasped thick and raw against his ear. “You of all people know that I don’t play well with others… And I certainly don’t share, either. Watchin’ you come completely undone? Watchin’ you fall apart under my hands? That’s all _mine_ , baby boy,” Dean growls lowly.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the response this story has gotten, it's just... Wow, so unexpected. This story was so far removed from anything I have ever written, or ever imagined myself being able to write, and your kind words, reviews, and kudos are inspiration and mean so much to me. Thank you. 
> 
> I also want to say Thank You again to LoveThemWinchester's for all her help in not only looking at the many, many, many pictures I sent her to use for this, but in putting the banner together, and in the step-by-step instructions in how to attach them.

They crash through the battered door of the men’s room, door slamming back into the wall, the dull brass handle hitting with enough force to crack the plaster and enough noise to draw attention, and that thought only spurs Sam on; makes him harder, and hotter, and more turned on than he ever remembers being. He’s not even sure how they made it in here—doesn’t really care—only knows that he’s _finally_ able to get his hands on his brother and he’s going to take the full advantage he’s been craving—teased with...denied—all evening.

Sam barely opens his mouth to curse his brother for making him so damn desperate and crazy, but before one word has a chance to pass his lips, his back connects hard with the wall behind him and his breath leaves him in an ‘ _omf’_ of air _._ The metal belt buckle from his hastily put back together jeans comes undone, clanging loudly against the metal paper towel dispenser as Dean slams into his chest, his taut, lean body a hot line pressed tight up against the front of him.

Sam’s eyes slide closed. His dick is as hard as steel where it’s pressed firmly between them against Dean’s hip. The combined friction from his boxer briefs, his half-open zipper, and the rough material of Dean’s jeans against his cock is almost too much. Not enough. An exquisite sort of agony and he grinds against the delicious pressure.  

Their mouths collide, all tongue, and teeth, and desperation. Dean sucking and biting on his bottom lip until it’s swollen and tingling; hands in constant motion; grasping and groping furiously over each other’s bodies.

“Clothes off… _now!_ ” Sam orders, voice rough and laced with hunger.

His hands scramble at Dean’s waist. Pull, and tug, and dig into his black t-shirt as he yanks it up and over Dean’s head, doesn’t care how dirty the floor is or where it lands as he tosses it across the small room. Sam drags his hands down the underside of Dean’s arms, spreads his fingers wide and drags his nails down the naked flesh of his brother’s back. Dean hisses, arching back into Sam’s touch. He throws his head back, long neck exposed and Sam licks a wide, wet stripe from his collarbone to his ear; sweat, and salt, and Dean’s unique taste all mixing and making him dizzy.

He nips at the tender lobe of Dean’s ear, draws it into his mouth and sucks on it as he squeezes his hands between them. He runs his fingers across Dean’s chest, flicks his thumbs softly back and forth across his nipples; does it again, and then one more time, just so he can hear that desperate, broken moan Dean lets out that sends delicious chills straight through him. His hands have taken on a life of their own, needing to be everywhere, touching everything; not knowing where to start, or where to touch first in his desperate need to feel every part of his brother that he can get to all at once.

Sam drags his hands down the sides of Dean’s ribcage, flutters them along the quivering muscles of Dean’s bare stomach to the jut of his hips, then slides them across his waist. He deftly undoes Dean’s belt, pops the button on his jeans, but then Dean is stopping him, grabbing him by the wrists and pulling his hands away.

 “Wait…wait,” Dean gasps out.

“What wait? No… no wait,” Sam essentially whines, doesn’t care what he sounds like in this moment. Sam is going to die, right here, right now… Or he’s going to kill his brother if Dean doesn’t get his hands back on him and touch him right the fuck _now._ Briefly, he struggles against the hold his older brother has on him. Not wanting to stop, _incapable_ of stopping; too far gone, too far over that glorious edge that his brother has been dangling him over all evening. Nothing else matters; just _Dean_ filling every pore and every molecule of his body.

Dean’s hands fumble between them and up his chest, the skin around his wrists reddened—marked—from where Sam’s own hands have clasped firmly around them. His fingers yank at Sam’s flannel shirt, and suddenly the rest of Dean’s mumblings make it through the haze of arousal clouding his mind.

And Sam is all on-board; one hundred percent approves of every word tumbling low and rough out of his brother’s kiss swollen lips. He rolls right over Dean’s grumbled _‘damn little brothers who wear too many fuckin’ layers,’_ ignores it completely—because, uhm…hello? Pot? Have you met kettle?—and pounces right on _‘naked now.’_

Because…yeah, ‘ _naked now?’_

Best fuckin’ idea that Dean has—in the history of all his schemes and plans—ever come up with. Sam abruptly lets go of Dean’s wrists, his large hands joining Dean’s as they grope and scrabble at the small buttons lining the front of his shirt, and Sam decides right then and there that from here on out, from this day forward, he will never, ever, again button any of his shirts.

Dean shoves his flannel down his wide shoulders, barely has it tugged off one of his arms before Sam is reaching down between them and pulling his gray t-shirt up and over his head.

Sam arches suddenly against his brother, shout of surprise bitten off in a sharp intake of a hissed breath as he feels Dean draw the peak of one of his nipples into his mouth, roll his tongue around it, and then bite down. His biceps bunch and flex, arms trapped and eyes blinded where he is still tangled up and trapped in his gray tee and flannel.

“Jesus… _fuck_ , the things you do to me, Sammy.”

Sam _feels_ the words breathed out in a searing line as Dean drags his mouth across the flesh of his chest; lips, tongue, and teeth nipping and licking as he makes his way to the other side.

One hand grasps Sam’s waist, pulls him in tight as it circles around to rest in the small of his back. He feels the other hand skate down and over the curve of his ass, fingers sliding down between his legs to grasp the top part of his inner thigh and hitch his leg up.

“ _Dean_.” It’s an oath, and a curse, and a plea all rolled into one—loud and echoing around the small room despite the worn cotton still covering his face—as Dean slots himself between Sam’s legs and lines up the long, hard length of his erection beside Sam’s. It takes every ounce of Sam’s self-control not to come right then and there as Dean starts to rut against him; the roll of his hips a languid, teasing grind. Maddeningly slow, and easy, and gentle despite the frantic, staccato beat of Dean’s heart and the harsh, panted breaths he can feel against the naked flesh of his chest.

He’s trapped, helpless. Forced to take whatever his older brother decides to give him.

And Sam loves every minute of it.

Sam’s world narrows down to touch and feel alone; his other senses exploding to fill in for the deprivation. Every nerve ending is lit; sensations amped up a thousand-fold. It’s nothing like Sam has ever imagined, and he could surrender to it; lose himself in it.

But not now.

Not tonight.

Sam’s long fingers scrabble at the thin fabric, finally manage to grab a small piece of the hem, and yank it up and off his head. The shirts end up in a tight bunch wrapped around one shoulder, tangled down around his upper arm, buttons digging into his back where the tails of his flannel are caught between him and the rough wall behind him. Sam shakes his elbow, arm flailing and contorting as he rolls his shoulder in an attempt to free himself from the fabric, unwilling to let go or separate from his brother for even one second as desire and hunger build and pulse between them.

Dean makes a sound deep in his throat, grasps the twisted pieces of shirt in his fist and in one swift motion wrenches it down and off Sam’s arm and tosses them on the floor. He buries the fingers of one hand in Sam’s hair, holding his head in place as his tongue sweeps over his teeth, across the roof of his mouth. Bright sparks of pleasure shoot through Sam as Dean tightens the hold he has in his hair, angling his head to the side as his lips latch onto his neck and suck at his pulse racing beneath.

Sam tosses his head back and groans. He bites his lip, teeth sinking in hard enough that he tastes the bitter tang of copper as Dean’s body slides against his, the hard lengths of their straining cocks rubbing together once again as his older brother angles away slightly; hears the distinct _slink_ and _click_ of metal tumblers turning, and then turning again, as Dean no doubt fumbles with the lock on the door.

Dean growls, the sound sucked down and swallowed up as Sam delves his tongue further into Dean’s mouth. Dean pulls his mouth off just far enough to speak, breath coming in harsh, short pants, thin ring of intense green surrounding lust blown black pupils as he looks at Sam.

“Lock’s busted.”

Sam gives a growl of his own. “Don’t care.” He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, digs his fingers tight into the skin of the jut of Dean’s hips and spins them both around, slamming Dean up against the unlocked door, while at the same time pinning both of his brother’s wrists at this sides.

Sam drags his lips up the line of Dean’s throat, sucks at the sensitive skin high on the side of his neck. Dean bucks against him, his deep moan shuddering through Sam as he continues to mouth at the quickly reddening skin, marking him; wanting everybody out beyond the thin door to see, wanting everyone to know that Dean is his.

“Impala never did need that engine valve thingy you kept going out searchin’ for last week, did it?” Sam says, voice a gravel rough rumble against his older brother’s ear.

“Nope.”

Dean pops the “ _p_ ” at the end of the word, and Sam can feel the cocky, shit-eating grin in the scrape of stubble as it slides against his cheek.

“You came _here_ ,” Sam states, and Dean hisses as he nips at his earlobe, sucking it into his mouth and worrying it with his teeth, the sensitive skin pulled tight and tugged out of his mouth as he pulls away and locks eyes with Dean. “To check this place out.”

Dean’s smile deepens, corners curving up wicked and dirty. “Yup.”

With no preamble Sam drops to his knees on the dirty, tiled floor between Dean’s slightly spread bowed legs and looks up at Dean through long eye lashes.

“ _Fuck_ …,” Dean growls, green eyes blown wide with lust as he stares down at Sam.

Sam grasps the zipper of his brother’s jeans in his teeth and slowly pulls it down—

—And makes a strangled sound deep in his throat.

_“Holy Fuck…”_ Sam echoes on a breathless whisper, the words almost silent, as he realizes his brother has gone commando. If he wasn’t sure before, this is veritable proof that Dean had this night planned out to the T. He didn’t think it was possible, but his dick grows even harder in his jeans.

Sam suddenly lets go of the hold he has on one of Dean’s wrist, quickly palms his cock to keep from losing it right then and there, and drops his head with a solid thud and another harsh curse against Dean’s hip.

He picks his head up just enough to raise his eyes and look at Dean, and Sam can only shake his head in fond exasperation at the smirk that greets him; can’t help the chuckle as Dean waggles his eyebrows as he bends his knees slightly and gives a slow roll of his hips against Sam’s face.

“Pretty cocky sonovabitch, aren’t ya?” Sam accuses lightly. He takes his hand off his own hard length and cups his brother’s balls through his jeans, long fingers stretched back between his legs alternating between gentle caresses and firm strokes as he massages along the seam of Dean’s ass.

Sam watches as Dean sucks in a breath, shifts his weight and grinds his hips down more into the palm of Sam’s hand. “Ya kiss y’brother with that mouth?”

Dean’s smirk has morphed into what Sam can only think of as a predatory grin, and he matches it as he picks his head up fully and raises himself back up to his knees. “Gonna do a lot more than that, big brother…gonna wipe that smirk right off your pretty face.”

Dean’s eyes narrow at the word ‘pretty,’ but Sam can see through the glare, can see the underlying playfulness that Dean will only share with him; knows that he’s the only one who can get away with saying that. “Bring it,” he growls out in challenge.

Sam holds his brother’s gaze as he mouths at the hard ridge of his erection. He pushes the open waistband of his brother’s jeans to either side, lips a barely-there pressure as he slides them up and down his brother’s impressive length, leaving a hot and fiery trail in his wake.

The mushroom head of Dean’s cock is wet and shining in the overhead fluorescent lights as it juts out of the vee of his jeans. Sam sticks his tongue out, watches as his brother’s green eyes darken even more as he swirls it in slow, lazy little circles around the smooth, delicate skin; curls it around and collects the familiar salty drops on the tip of his tongue. The flavor explodes on his taste buds, and a breathy moan escapes Sam’s mouth on a shudder. His cock pulses in his jeans, pushing painfully against his zipper where it’s still trapped in his pants. 

“Goddamn tease,” Dean says, and it’s a choked off faint whisper.

 “You love it,” Sam returns, pursing his lips and blowing a puff of hot air over the wet tip of his brother’s shaft that sends a hard shiver down the entire length of Dean’s body.

Dean gasps, and Sam can feel the muscles in his brother’s forearms contract and bunch as he strains against Sam’s hands where he still has him pinned against the door, hips rocking forward seeking more contact.

Dean’s grin is nothing short of wicked as he looks down at him, because there’s no denying it. No denying how much he loves when Sam does this, how much he loves the occasions where Sam uses his height and still-maturing muscles and strength to his advantage; puts all those skills he hated learning as a kid to much better uses. It sends a heady rush buzzing straight through Sam knowing he can have Dean like this. Knowing that with less than a thought Dean could have himself free; could turn the tables and take back control.

Yet he never does.

That he is the only one that Dean will ever submit to.

“Would love it even more if you’d—”

 “—if I’d what?” Sam interrupts. He lets go of Dean’s arms and slides his hands into the waistband of his jeans, long fingers gliding down smooth skin; squeezing and molding the globes of his ass as he pulls the denim down his bowed legs. Dean’s cock bobs out, slaps hard and heavy against his flat stomach, precum smearing on his light freckled skin.

“Did this?” Sam dips forward, fits his mouth over the head and slides down the entire length of his brother’s cock in one go, relaxing his jaw as it hits the back of his throat and swallows him down; enjoys the choked off hiss and groan that it pulls from his older brother’s lips.

Dean brings one hand to Sam’s face, curling his fingers around the hinge of Sam’s jaw as he cups his cheek with his palm. He gently rubs the pad of his thumb along the corner of his mouth.

“Jesus, Sammy…,” Dean breathes out, “look at you… lips stretched so pretty and wide around my dick…so fuckin’ hot, little brother.”

Dean slides his other hand to the back of Sam’s head, fingers tangling in the soft curls, clenching and releasing against his scalp as Sam hums in satisfaction. Dean’s swears softly on a long, drawn out moan and his hips buck up, small shallow thrusts into Sam’s mouth as Sam hollows his cheeks and sucks harder. He curls his tongue around the underside of Dean’s cock as he works his way back up his length; wraps his fingers around the base, slides his hand up to meet his mouth and strokes as he fists downward.

“Yeah… _fuck_ …just like that.” Dean’s eyes slide closed. His cheeks are stained a soft pink, cinnamon colored freckles standing out in stark relief against the blush of arousal coloring down along the pale, soft skin of his neck and chest, long line of his throat stretched as his head falls back against the door, quick little pants of air escaping through his slightly parted full, red lips.

Sam will never grow tired of seeing his brother like this.

Sam tightens his lips when he gets to the top, sucks slow and steady on the smooth, silky tip. Dean moans breathlessly as Sam flicks the very tip of his tongue into the slit and bobs his head down, dragging his mouth leisurely back up; tongue swirling around the underside first one way, then reversing direction and swirling the other. The fingers of one hand are still stroking and working counter to his lips as each time he goes down just a little bit lower, before he quickly slides all the way down.

Sam’s nose nestles in the coarse curls at the base of Dean’s length, their earthy, pungent aroma pulling a moan from deep within his throat. Sam throws his forearm across Dean’s lower abdomen, puts a bit of his weight behind it, pins Dean’s hips in place so he can’t move. He constricts the muscles in his throat, swallows shallowly around the rigid length of Dean’s cock and moans again, dropping his voice to its lowest register so the sound reverberates through his lips and tongue to the hard, sensitive flesh inside his mouth.

The muscle’s in Dean’s legs lock up, a litany of _‘shitshitshit’_ running past his lips as hard shudders start to rock his entire body.

“Sammy…,” Dean breathes out, fingers tightening in the long strands of his hair at the back of his head, “ya gotta…m’gonna…Sammy, man… _SAM!”_

His name is a wrecked, bitten off growl as Dean curls his fingers tightly in Sam’s hair and _tugs_ , pulling him up and off his cock with a loud, wet, obscene _pop_.

Sam shifts forward, eyes locked on his older brother’s lust blown deep green eyes as he presses up against Dean’s chest, long arms wrapping around the warm skin at the small of his back. Sam flicks his tongue out and slowly sweeps it across his own mouth. He watches as Dean drops his penetrative gaze from Sam’s eyes to his mouth, green eyes darkening, tip of his tongue peeking out and wetting his full lips as he tracks the movement of Sam’s tongue; and Sam can’t help the pornographic moan as he licks the taste of Dean from his still tingling, swollen lips.

“Christ, you’re amazing,” Dean marvels breathlessly. He brings his hands up, burying his fingers in Sam’s hair, holding it still, ‘ _clothes_ ,’ and ‘ _off_ ,’ and ‘ _now’_ interspersed with bites and kisses as he surges forward and captures Sam’s lips.

Sam shimmies a hand between them, the other hand stroking Dean’s hair, his back, clutching at his ass, at any part of his brother’s body he can reach, as he pulls and paws at the waistband of his own jeans. His fingers fumble as he tries to find the right angle and balance and coordination that will get the zipper to move so he can get the pants down his hips and right the hell _off_ his body; so desperate to get that skin on skin contact that he needs like the air he breathes. He doesn’t want to step away. He doesn’t want to stop what he’s doing. Doesn’t want to stop what _Dean_ is doing for even an instant. Even as he thinks it, he realizes the ludicrousness of that thought, because naked is what he wants right the fuck _now_.

He pulls his mouth away from Dean with a long, low, breathy groan, chest heaving as he takes a couple small steps back; the instant, sharp loss of his brother’s body heat like a punch to the gut. Sam’s finger’s work on autopilot as he starts to slide his jeans over his ass and down his slender hips, his attention and gaze fully on Dean as his brother leans casually back against the chipped bathroom door, hand loosely wrapped around his rigid, blood-red length, and starts jacking himself slowly.

“See something you like, little brother?” Dean drawls. The tips of Sam’s tongue sweeps across his kiss bruised lips as he nods his head, words escaping him as he stares riveted to the slow slide of his older brother’s right hand as it glides down his spit-slick cock, long fingers sweeping over the shiny, leaking head before sliding back and starting all over again.

And Sam is done with waiting.

He’s falling before he’s even aware that he’s moved, long legs entangled in the loose droop of his jeans that still hang just under the swell of his ass, denim caught up in the toe of his boot.

“You and your freakin’ giraffe legs,” Dean teases with a snicker and a shake of his head as he easily steps forward and catches an awkward and less-than-graceful Sam, strong arms gripping his shoulders and pulling him tight against his chest.

“You love my long giraffe legs,” Sam counters as he’s pulled flush against Dean’s body. Their hard lengths line up and brush against each other and Sam moans at the contact, shifting his hips and rocking up against his brother. They both shudder at the contact, gasping into each other’s mouths as they kiss hungrily.

“I do,” Dean agrees, roll of his hips matching Sam’s own, the slick, hot slide of flesh on flesh like a live current of electricity shooting through his entire body. Warm, wet breath puffs against the skin of his neck where Dean is sucking kisses along the thick muscle of his throat, and it sends a shiver of heated blood coursing through his veins and another moan tumbling from his lips. “And later on? I’m gonna strip you down all nice and proper, spread you out… and you’re gonna wrap ‘em around me nice and tight while I fuck you senseless into our mattress. Right now though…”

Sam finds himself suddenly spun around, arms shooting out on instinct to catch himself as he comes face to face with the wooden door, Dean flush against his back. Dean’s thick, hard length is a ghost of hot pressure where it’s riding the crack of his ass, his brother’s flesh searing against his own and it sends prickles of pleasure through Sam so sweeping and intense that he’s sure his brain is going to melt.

“…right now, I want’cha up against the wall and spread for me.” Dean curls his fingers into the long hair on the back of Sam’s head, pulling him back into a quick, messy, passionate kiss. Crushing, insistent, demanding. He slides his arms around Sam, work-roughened palms hot and possessive at they roam and caress along his chest, every muscle in his body trembling as blunt fingernails scrape over the bump of every rib, flutter and trace along the contours of his abs.

Dean’s lips and tongue slide up and down his back, nipping, and biting, and sucking at each knob of his spine; his hands running over the curve of his ass, down his thighs and Sam feels his jeans slide down his legs and pool around his ankles.  

 “I had so much more planned for you, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. “Got a ring right here in my pocket…was gonna slip it on you, nice and snug and perfect… make you squirm while I took my time working you open. But… _Christ,_ little brother _..._ you make me so damn crazy… That’ll hafta wait for another time…cuz right now…”

Dean digs his fingers into his hips, hard enough that Sam is sure that they’ll be bruises there in the morning—and Sam’s looking forward to each and every one of them. He wraps his foot around one of Sam’s ankles and kicks his leg out as far as the denim wrapped around his feet will allow, positioning Sam just like he wants him.

Dean’s teeth rake down the side of Sam’s neck, tongue flicking across that sensitive spot right behind his ear that always sends shivers racing through his entire body. The fingers of Dean’s free hand slide up Sam’s sweat-slick chest to glide against his lips, and Sam eagerly opens his mouth, tongue flicking out to wrap around two of the digits and sucking them into his mouth.

Sam works his tongue over and around, between the webbing of the long digits, anywhere he can touch. His head drops back onto Dean’s shoulder, eyes sliding closed, mouth and tongue sucking hotly on his brother’s fingers.

Dean moans low and long in his throat. “That’s it, baby boy, get ‘em nice and wet for me. You wanted to do that out in the club, didn’t you?” A rough, dirty chuckle rumbles against Sam’s neck as he lets out a surprised gasp.

“Knew ya did, could see how much you wanted to in those beautiful, ever-changing eyes of yours. Ya wanna know something?” Dean whisper’s quietly, against his ear, “I woulda let you. Would’ve driven ‘em all wild; all of ‘em wishin’ it was their fingers you were suckin’ on…touchin’ you. Them you were writhing against.”

Sam’s entire body jolts, mouth going lax at the first feel of the tip of Dean’s index finger against his rim, and he tenses for a second, preparing for the cold shock of lube that never comes; just the warm slip slide of slick circling his hole. And the realization that the little tube of lubricant must have been in Dean’s pocket all night, the heat from his body warming it up, punches a moan out of him.

 “ _Dean_ …”

 “Love this so much, don’t’cha, little brother? God…look at you, so gorgeous like this, makes me so fuckin’ hard.” Dean’s hand has dropped from his mouth, spit-slick fingers a barely there tease of pressure as he curls them into a loose fist and starts jacking Sam’s cock; lube coated finger tip tracing around his tight rim at the same time, never pressing in, just maddeningly continuous circles.

 “Please… _c’mon_ ,” Sam pleads, his voice a ragged keen. “Dean, god…I need it…I wanna feel you in me… _Please_.”

 “God, listen to you….you beg so pretty, sweatheart.” Dean chuckles, and it’s a low, filthy vibration against the back of Sam’s neck that prickles his skin and shoots a ripple of sparks all the way down to his toes. “Guess I must be doin’ s’thing wrong if you can still bitchface me.”

 “Dean, I swear to God…”

 “What, hmmm? This what you need?”

 Sam cries out in a raw, wrecked voice when Dean sinks his finger in to the first knuckle, slides it out and then immediately sinks back in with a second tucked right beside it. He corkscrews them both up into him, unerringly finding his sweet spot and dragging the pads of his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves and Sam’s hips buck up on a shout. Sam throws his head back on another shout of his brother’s name; neck muscles corded as Dean continues the steady press and drag of his fingers inside him. His cock twitches hard within the circle of Dean’s fist. His hips pumping of their violation, not sure whether he wants to move forward into the warm, wet friction of Dean’s fist, or back into the delicious stretch and burn of his fingers.

 “That feel good, baby brother?”

Sam nods, mouth falling open on a moan. He spreads his knee’s as far as he is able, back arched as he cants his hips back, squeezing and thrusting back onto Dean’s fingers.

 “That’s my boy,” his older brother praises, “make some noise, baby. Let me hear. Let me hear how much you like it. Feels so good, Sammy…can’t wait to have you stretched all around me.”

Dean pulls out, drags his fingers up the crack of his ass and gathers some of the lube on the tips of his fingers. Three fingers stroke against his entrance, teasing for a few torturous moments before they’re pushed in past the resistance of his muscle; and Sam keens at the pleasure of the burn, his breath hitching and catching in his throat as they drag over his prostate on every other thrust. As they twist, and stretch, and scissor him open in just the right way to make his head spin; Dean’s other hand still an unhurried, leisurely slide up and down his throbbing, hard-as-steel erection.

Sam is panting now. He’s wrecked, desperate; eyes wild, hair damp, sweat beading up on his temples and pooling in the hollow of his throat, his hips pumping, cock hard and dripping in the circle of Dean’s hand. It’s not enough. He needs more. He wants Dean in deep, wants him harder and faster and… _More_.  

 “ _Dean_.” His brother’s name can’t even be considered a word, just a broken sound slurred together amid the moans and cries spilling from his mouth.

 Dean leans in closer, nuzzles Sam’s cheek, wet tip of his tongue flicking out to trace along his jaw line as he whispers in his ear. “Tell me what you want, Sammy.”

“Fuck me, _please_ ,” Sam pleads, voice raw, trembling like the rest of him so hard he thinks that there’s a real possibility that he’s going to fly apart. “Dean…c’mon, please…fuck me. Want it…wanna feel you… Wanna feel you t’morrow, wanna—”

 Sam’s pleas are all cut short as Dean drives in all the way to the hilt— long, and hard, and deep. All the air seizes up in Sam’s chest, breath punched from his lungs. “ _Dean_ …,” he gasps, chest heaving as he draws in air, fingers curling against the door, nails gouging at the chipped wood.

 The second he’s seated, Dean falls forward, silken, molten-hot skin draping the length of Sam’s back. “ _Shit, Sammy_.” The words are a long, drawn out growl against the skin at the base of his neck where Dean’s head has fallen onto the back of his shoulder. They’re both gasping, sweat slick bodies trembling against each other as Dean bottoms out and stills.

One of Dean’s hands leaves his hip, drifts up across his belly and abs, continues upwards, thumb and forefinger rolling one his nipples. The sharp pinch at the end a delicious counterpart to the burn of entry and ache of fullness, and Sam gasps and squirms on Dean’s cock in an effort to get more.

 "God, Sammy, you feel so good," Dean breathes out against his skin. "So damn tight. M'not gonna last."

 "You're not gonna last?" Sam turns his head as much as he can, the tips of Dean’s blonde hair rasping against the cut of his jaw from where his older brother’s head is still resting on of his shoulder. He barks out a laugh, and it’s hysterical even to his own ears, the note of incredulousness in his voice thick enough to cut the charged air between them.

"You've had me hangin off the edge all damn night, Dean," Sam growls, so turned on he’s lightheaded, harder than he’s ever been in his entire life. "I don't fuckin' care! Just fuckin move and fuck me already!"

"You always are such a damn bossy bottom, aren't you?” Dean mutters. “You ready?"

He doesn’t wait for an answer. It’s all the warning Sam gets before Dean is pulling almost all the way out. He stops just as the head of his cock catches on his rim; thick, velvety-smoothness stretching him wide—riling him up with the promise of what’s to come—before he slams back in.

Dean’s hands are locked on Sam’s hips as he sets a hard punishing rhythm, quick, sharp snaps of his hips, and Sam pushes back, meets Dean thrust for thrust, driving him deeper with every push of his hips.

The small room is filled with the steady sound of skin slapping against skin, their harsh breaths and deep moans punctuating the beats between the driving music pumping out of the dance floor speakers. Sam can feel the bass, so heavy it’s reverberating right through the door, vibrating his hands and traveling up his arms, thrumming through him and adding to the overload of sensations coursing through his body.

“Oh, God…” Sam gasps out, shuddering as raw, sharp pleasure shoots through him.

“There is it,” Dean drawls, angling his hips to slam into his prostate again. “Like that, baby?”

“Again,” Sam begs. “More.”

A choked-off keen spills from his mouth as Dean complies, pounding into that spot that has him seeing stars and his hard and straining cock leaking as it bobs in front of him.

Sam’s arms collapse against the door under Dean’s punishing rhythm. He mouths at his forearm; lips, tongue, teeth, biting and sucking and licking at his salt-sweaty skin, the sensations coursing through his body overflowing, needing another outlet.

He’s so close, can feel his orgasm building all the way down in his toes; body tingling, balls drawn up so tight against his body, stomach clenching…he just needs—

“Touch yourself for me, Sammy,” Dean whispers, as if he could read Sam’s mind. And he probably can. Sam may be the psychic in the family, but Dean can read him like a book. Always knows what he wants, what he needs. “Want’cha to get yourself off for me.”

Sam shakily shifts his upper body, letting his other arm and shoulder bear his weight as he untangles his limbs, reaches down, and wraps his long fingers around his hard and straining cock.

“Love watchin’ you do that. Don’t even have to see you right now to know what you look like,” Dean tells him, tongue snaking its way up the column of his throat and a low moan rumbles in Sam’s chest. “The way you can’t even keep your eyes open because it feel so good…teeth digging into your bottom lip as you bite down the second you touch yourself…that beautiful, broken hiss, your entire body shivering because you need it so bad—yeah, just like that, could listen to you all night… God, you’re so close, aren’t you?”   

The tremors quakes his entire body. He’s barely aware of the noises tumbling from his lips as he continues to stroke himself, world narrowed down to nothing but the slick, hot, hard slide of his brother as he pushes into him harder and harder. It’s like a play by play—his own personal live porno—as his body responds perfectly, without conscious thought, to the words that flow like liquid honey from Dean’s mouth.

Dean moves a hand from his hip, a slow slide across the sweat-slicked skin of his stomach and down, joining Sam’s as he intertwines their fingers around Sam’s cock. He tightens both of their grips around his throbbing dick, quickening their strokes, rough and hard, to match the snap of their hips.

“Yeah…just like that,” Dean praises. He fists his other hand in Sam’s hair, twisting the strands between his fingers, pulling his head back, using it as leverage as he fucks Sam deeper. Sam gasps and moans, arching and pulling into the tug on his scalp, each twist and tug an electrifying sting of pleasure.

“C’mon, Sammy…come for me,” Dean orders with a growl, pulling Sam’s head to the side with a sharp tug, teeth latching onto the sensitive flesh at the base of his neck, and that’s all it takes…

Sam comes with a shout; eyes squeezed tight, body clenching and spasming tight around Dean, shuddering almost violently as he pulses and spills into their combined hands. Dean looses his rhythm a moment later. His breath is a hot, heavy, swift hitch against Sam’s ear as his body jerks, Sam’s name tumbling from his lips as he comes deep inside him.

Dean collapses against Sam’s back, hand moving away from his now too sensitive cock to wrap around his waist. His other hand squeezes and massages the back of his neck before turning Sam’s head and capturing his mouth in a slow, gentle kiss.

A hard pounding on the other side of the door Sam is still pressed against brings reality back, pulling them from the languid kisses and deep-sated, post-orgasm high that is wrapped around them both. The arm Dean has wrapped around his waist tightens, and Sam allows himself a second to bask in the feelings of security and love that possessive action invokes as both their hands simultaneously slam against the wood to prevent it from opening, a litany of _shitshitshit_ tumbling from both their mouths; the loud, gruff voice sounding more amused—and possibly laced with a little bit of heated arousal now that Sam thought about it—than angry, as he shouted from the other side of the thin wood. 

“As hot as that just fuckin’ was—”

“And let me tell ya, that was fuckin’ _smokin’_ man.” And that’s a different voice that adds the side-note, Sam realizes, and a shiver that has nothing to do with the, now noticeable, cool air of the bathroom runs down his spine, leaving him to wonder just how much of an actual audience they’d had.

“As I was sayin’,” the first man continues, “if you two are done bumpin’ uglies in there, there are those of us out here in real need of relieving ourselves.”

Dean uses the arm wrapped around his waist to spin Sam around so he’s once again pressed against the wooden door. His feet are planted firm on either side of Sam’s slightly spread legs, bicep muscles flexed tight as he brings his other arm up and frames it on the other side of Sam’s head against the bathroom door. A sentry against any who try to enter, and Sam knows, without a doubt, that even though he is the closest to the door, nothing and no one is making it past his brother.    

“In more ways than one,” comes another, _third_ , shouts.

 "Oh, god,” Sam moans out lowly.

Dean lets out a low chuckle as knowing eyes pin Sam with a stare. “Like that, Sammy?” Dean whispers, the very tip of his wet tongue darting out and tracing along the shell of Sam’s ear, “Think they’ve been listenin’ this whole time? Standin’ _right there_ , hearin’ all those beautiful sounds comin’ outta your mouth?”

Sam sucks in a shaky breath, breathes it out on a moan that he tries to suppress by biting down on his bottom lip. Goosebumps chase a heady thrill across his bare skin; the rush making his heart beat frantically in his chest.

“Uh, uh, little brother, what I tell ya?” Dean chides, voice dark and smooth like hundred year old top shelf whiskey, “None of that.” He leans his face in close, tongue teasing at the seam of Sam’s mouth until Sam pulls his top teeth off, bottom lip rolling out where Dean immediately catches it in his own teeth nipping and sucking at it lightly before he pulls off and lets it go. Sam’s hands reach out and grip Dean’s hips, tying to pull him closer as he chases after his lips, soft, broken, little sounds wrapped up in the air panted out of his mouth.

“Mmm, that’s more like it. That’s what I wanna hear,” Dean praises as he slides his lips down the outside of his throat. Sam gasps, hips bucking up and grinding against Dean where his hip is pressed against him. He knows it’s too soon, knows that there’s no way he could possibly get hard again this quickly, but obviously his dick didn’t get that message, twitching and jerking where it lay as his blood starts to heat again.

 “Bet you could go again, huh?” Sam sucks in a sharp hiss, his body almost locking up as Dean takes his still sensitive length in his hand and starts stroking him gently. “Knowin’ they’re right there…right on the other side of this door? So close… Listenin’ to our every movement, knowin’ what it is we’re doin’ in here? ”  

 Dean’s name tumbles from his lips on a quiet moan, hips picking up more of a rhythm. He’s already half hard, sweat and come slicking the way so he easily slides through Dean’s fingers.

“Hey, now…bring it somewhere else.” Another loud pounding rattles the door behind Sam’s head and he drops his forehead onto Dean’s shoulder with a deep groan and an even deeper breath as he tries to gather his wits back around himself.

 Dean lifts his chin up, cupping his cheek as he gives Sam a quick gentle kiss before—reluctantly—stepping back and putting some distance between them.  

 “Yeah, yeah,” Dean growls loudly at the door, “keep your damn pants on.”

Sam can’t help the chuckle that escapes. He opens his mouth to point out to his brother just how much of a double entendre that statement is when one of the men on the other side of the door ever so helpfully does it for him.

“Think that’s suppose to be my line, son,” the man throws back good-naturedly.

 A bark of laughter bursts from Dean’s lips. “I think I like that guy,” he says with a grin, looking back at Sam.

“C’mon, Sasquatch, get a move on,” Dean says, swatting Sam playfully on his bare ass as he walks by to retrieve his clothes, and then stops. He spins around, eyes on Sam as he quirks an eyebrow, and Sam knows he didn’t miss the low moan that escaped his lips without his permission.

“Yeah?”

Sam opens his mouth, and then closes it as he looks at his brother, small smile on his face sheepish as he simply shrugs one shoulder.

“Sonovabitch.” Dean takes a step towards him, expression on his face nothing short of lascivious. “You are a kinky little bastard, you know that?”

Sam’s smile brightens, because there’s no denying it, not after the evening they’ve just had. They’d only been together for a short time before Stanford, and Sam quickly squashes down the tangle of sharp regrets that thought threatens to release, not nearly enough time to explore each other, discover which buttons to push, and stroke, and caress that would unleash desires hidden deep.

“Yeah,” Sam admits quietly, already thinking of what other fantasy’s he’d like to come out and play with next, of ways to get his brother to loose that tight-knit control he has, make him beg, and writhe, and fall apart beneath him. “But I’m your kinky little bastard.”

“Damn straight you are,” Dean growls. _Kink number one_ , Sam thinks, _for both of us_ as Dean tangles his fingers in the long strands of his hair and grips tight, pulling him in for a quick, messy kiss.

_Yeah, this is gonna be fun._

 


End file.
